When the Duke Was Wicked

by Lorraine Heath

  But then apparently neither was Grace. She could have taken the time to change into something less enticing before beginning her journey to the club. They would no doubt be here all night, which she would have known. She knew their habits, their sins, as well as they did. But she had chosen instead to make a grand entrance.

  For what purpose?

  He knew she had an aversion to losing, but was she really here to gain funds for a foundling home? He doubted it immensely. All she had to do was ask and they’d each reach into their pockets to find their last coin. No, something else was afoot, and he suspected it had to do with her midnight visit to his residence last week.

  Realizing that he’d been studying her for too long, Lovingdon lowered his eyes to his two cards, one down-turned, one up, that had been dealt as soon as her gloves were secure in her reticule. With this lot, no hiding places were allowed. They were playing stud poker. Grace’s brothers had taken a voyage to New Orleans and discovered it while there. When they returned and revealed the intricacies of the game, it became a favorite among their friends and added to the repertoire of entertainments at Dodger’s Drawing Room.

  Downstairs, however, it wasn’t nearly as cutthroat, nor were the stakes as high. He wondered if he should mention to Greystone that he was giving his daughter far too much allowance if she had enough blunt to allow her into their private games.

  More cards were dealt, more wagers made, until Grace won the round. Her smile of victory was bright enough to light the room without the gaslights burning. The others groaned, which only caused her lips to widen further in triumph. “You never know when to stop betting, Langdon,” she said, her voice laced with teasing that skittered down Lovingdon’s spine. When was the last time he’d laughed, or even smiled, for that matter?

  “You should play my father,” Langdon replied. “I hear he never loses at cards.”

  “Grace seldom does either,” Drake said, beginning to deal the next round. “Even when she played silly card games as a child that required little more than matching two pictures, she always managed to beat me.”

  “All these years I thought you let me win.”

  Drake did little more than wink at her. He had begun his life as a street urchin until he was brought into the bosom of Grace’s family. He never spoke of his life before, but there were times when Lovingdon could see that it weighed heavily on him. He was devoted to his work here, ensuring that the gaming hell made a tidy profit, his way of repaying those who had given him so much.

  “Anything interesting occur at Claybourne’s ball?” Avendale asked.

  Grace lifted one slender alabaster shoulder. “If you want to know what happens at the balls, you should attend.”

  “I don’t truly care. I was simply trying to make polite conversation.”

  “Trying to distract me from noticing the cards dealt, more like. Although I did hear that a certain young lady was spotted in the garden with a particular older gentleman.”

  “Who?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “I’m not one to gossip.”

  “Then why even mention it?”

  She smiled, that alluring smile that Lovingdon suspected brought some men to their knees. “To distract you. Now you’ll be wondering if perhaps it was a lady who might have made you an excellent duchess.”

  “I have no interest in marriage. I daresay none of us at this table, with the exception of you, do.”

  “You all require heirs.”

  “There’s no rush,” Lovingdon said laconically. “My father was quite old when he sired me.”

  “Which left your mother a young widow.”

  “Marrying young is no guarantee that you won’t be left alone.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. After two years the bite of loss was still sharp. His mother encouraged him to move on. She had done it quickly enough after his father died, but then theirs had not been a love match. No, she had not known love until Jack Dodger, the notorious public owner of Dodger’s Drawing Room, had been named Lovingdon’s guardian.

  Grace blushed, and he suspected if she still possessed her freckles that they would have disappeared within the redness of her face. “Of course not. I’m sorry. I . . . I was thoughtless there.”

  “Think nothing of it. My words were uncalled for.” Tension descended to surround them. No one ever spoke of Juliette. Sometimes it was as though she had existed only in his mind. Of late he found it increasingly difficult to recall her scent, the exact shade of her hair, the precise blue of her eyes. Had they been a sky at dawn or sunset?

  Grace turned her attention to her cards, and he found himself watching as her bright blush receded. Her face would be warm to the touch, but then he suspected all of her would be warm. He should leave the cards and find himself a woman, but tonight he had no interest in the women he’d been visiting recently. Yes, they brought surcease to his flesh, but he failed to feel alive when he was with them. He went through the motions, but it seemed for the past two years, in all aspects of his life, he’d merely been going through the motions. Putting one foot in front of the other without thought or purpose. He refocused on his pair of jacks, holding dark thoughts at bay.

  It came as no surprise to him that neither he nor Grace won that hand. The game seemed trite and yet it was a relief to concentrate on something that didn’t truly matter. He had enough money in his coffers that losing was no hardship. He had been brought up to adhere to his father’s belief that debt was the work of the devil. A man paid as he went. He never owed another man anything because debts had a way of bringing a man down when he least expected it.

  The night wore on, conversation dwindling to nothing as everyone concentrated on the cards they were dealt. Lovingdon watched as half his chips made their way into Grace’s stash. It should have irritated the devil out of him, but he was intrigued by the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle of her blue eyes with each round that she won. That she cared so much about something so trivial when he cared not at all about the most important things . . .

  The present hand showed Grace with two queens and a jack, while Lovingdon showed a king, a ten, and a nine. Drake and Langdon had withdrawn from the round earlier. The final cards were now placed facedown in front of the remaining players.

  Graced tapped her finger on a card. “I shall bet fifty.” She tossed her chips onto the pile in the center of the table as though the amount was of no consequence, but then it wasn’t really the money that enticed any of them into playing. It was the thrill of beating the others. The chips simply served as a measurement of success.

  “I believe I’m finished for the night,” Avendale said, turning all his cards facedown.

  Lovingdon peered at his last card, shifted his gaze to Grace. She wore confidence with the ease that most women donned a cloak. He met her fifty and raised her fifty more.

  Without hesitation she met his fifty. “I want to increase the pot,” she said.

  “Then do so.”

  “I wish to wager something a little different.”

  He wasn’t the only one who came to attention at that. He could fairly feel the curiosity and interest rolling off the others. He hoped he had managed to keep his own fascination from showing. “Explain.”

  She licked her lips, the delicate muscles of her throat moving slightly as she swallowed. “We each wager a boon. If your cards beat mine, you may ask anything of me and I shall comply. If my cards beat yours, you will honor my request.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Drake said. “That’s not the way the game is played. Use your chips or forfeit.”

  “Hold on,” Lovingdon drawled, studying her intently. The glow that alighted in her eyes, the fine blush beneath her skin. “I wager she’s been waiting for this moment all night. I say we let her have it.”

  “Why do I feel as though I’ve stepped into the middle of some muck here?” Drake asked. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  Lovingdon rolled his lucky coin over and under his fingers. “I
have a fairly good idea.”

  He had to give her credit: she didn’t flinch, but met his gaze head on. So he was right. She planned to win his assistance.

  “You’re not seriously considering calling her on it,” Drake insisted. “You have no idea what she’ll ask.”

  “I doubt she’ll ask anything that I would find revolting. The danger is to her, for she knows not what I might ask, and my standards are not as high as hers.”

  “You can’t ask anything that would be unseemly or might put her reputation at risk,” Drake insisted.

  “Are there rules to this wager?” Lovingdon asked her.

  She angled her chin. “None at all.”

  “I won’t allow this,” Drake said.

  “The lady is willing to suffer the consequences of so rash an action, so you have no choice,” Lovingdon reminded him.

  “I rule here. It’s my gaming house,” Drake insisted.

  “It’s not actually. It’s owned by my stepfather, Langdon’s father, and Grace’s mother. As much as I respect how well you manage it, I must also respect that the lady has the right to wager as she wants. As long as she understands that she will not be at all pleased with my request should I win.”

  Drake leaned toward her. “Grace, this is an unwise course of action. You have no earthly clue what he might demand of you.”

  Never removing her gaze from Lovingdon, she smiled, and the slight upturn of her lips nearly undid him. She was daring him to do something wicked. Oh, he thought of the fun he could have teaching her the ways of men with scandalous reputations—

  His thoughts slammed to a halt as though he had hit a brick wall. She was Lady Grace Mabry, lover of kittens, thief of biscuit tins, and climber of trees. What the devil was he doing thinking of her wrapped in silk sheets? He should have his back flayed, and he suspected Drake would be more than willing to do just that if his friend realized the journey his wayward thoughts had just taken.

  “That you would think he might do something dastardly has piqued my curiosity beyond all measure,” Grace said. “Still, I’m willing to wager a boon as long as you, Lovingdon, understand that you will not be happy with what I request, but you will be obligated to fulfill it until I am satisfied with the outcome.”

  He almost purred that he could most certainly satisfy her. He felt a thrumming of excitement, the first bit that he’d felt in a good long while. It was odd to think of all the drinking, gambling, and bedding he’d done, and the thrill of it paling in comparison to this one moment, the possibility of beating her . . . and the chance he wouldn’t and that her request would no doubt set his blood to boiling, because he had a damned good idea what she wanted of him. It was strange to be so alert, so on edge after being in a fog for so long. He nodded with certainty. “By all means. I call your wager.”

  Bless her, but she looked triumphant and he knew what she held, before she turned up the first card she had received and the queen of hearts winked up at him. “Three queens.”

  “I can count, my lady.” He flipped over both of his downturned cards and watched as her face drained of all color. Three kings sealed her fate.

  “I see.” She lifted her sapphire gaze to his, narrowed her eyes, licked her lips. “That is quite astonishing.”

  “I tried to warn you off.”

  She nodded, her jaw so tight that he thought she might be grinding her teeth down to nubs. “Your request of me?”

  He would not feel guilty, because the cards had favored him and not her. He would not. He was well aware of the other gentlemen waiting on bated breath for his pronouncement. While he was known to take advantage of situations, it irked him to realize that they thought he would take advantage of her, a girl he considered a sister in spite of the fact they shared no blood. “You know what I require.”

  “And what exactly is that?” Drake asked.

  “Something quite innocent, I assure you,” she said as she stood, as graceful and proud as a queen who had been disappointed by her minions but refused to succumb to tears. With the exception of Lovingdon, all the gentlemen stood as well. “Drake, will you see about arranging a carriage for me? I sent my driver home earlier.”

  “I’ve had quite enough of the evening,” Lovingdon said, shoving back his chair and coming to his feet. “I’ll see you home.”

  Chapter 4

  The coach rattled through the streets. Inside, the silence was as thick and heavy as the fog settling in. Lovingdon sat opposite Grace. While she stared out the window, she could feel his gaze homed in on her. “You cheated,” she said softly.

  “So did you.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. It was one thing to cheat, another to lie.

  “Then I should not have to pay the boon,” she said.

  “Would you have been so gracious if the circumstances were reversed?”

  Her sigh was one of impatience, a bit of anger. She had expected him to play as a gentleman, not a scoundrel. She shouldn’t be surprised. The rumors she’d heard that he had lost his moral compass were apparently true. And damn him. Even if she had won unfairly, she would have required he pay the boon.

  “No, you’re quite right. We were evenly matched, regardless of the outcome.” Turning her head slightly to peer at him, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Thank you for not telling them what it was I wanted.”

  He shrugged out of his jacket, leaned across the distance separating them and settled it around her shoulders.

  “So warm,” she murmured, inhaling the scent of cigar, whiskey, and something deeper, darker, unique to him. “It smells of you.”

  “You’ll not distract me from my purpose here. I want you to get this absurd notion out of your head that I could assist you in any conceivable manner regarding your quest for a grand love. You must know what qualities you seek in a man. Finding love is a personal journey, Grace.”

  “I know.” She sighed, nodded, glanced back out the window. “Lord Bentley, I should think.”

  “What of him?” His words were terse.

  “I believe his attentions are sincere. He has told me that I am beautiful, that he carries me into his dreams every night.”

  “But then so do I.”

  Her heart thundering, Grace jerked her head around to stare at Lovingdon’s silhouette. She wished she could see his eyes. They were lost in the shadows. He moved. Smoothly. Swiftly. Until his hand was caressing her cheek, a light touch that was almost no touch at all, yet still it almost scorched her flesh.

  She inhaled his rugged masculine scent. Hardly a hairbreadth separated them.

  “You are so beautiful.” His voice was a low rasp that sent tiny shivers of pleasure coursing through her. “I’ve long thought of confessing my infatuation, but we have been friends for so long that I thought you might laugh—”

  “No. Never.”

  “In my dreams, we’re on a hillock, lying upon the cool grass, our bodies so close that they provide heat as warm as the sun bearing down on us.”

  “Lovingdon—”

  “Were Bentley’s words as sweet?”

  “Not quite, but near enough.”

  “And you believed such poppycock?”

  She stilled, not even daring to breathe. “You think he lied?”

  He leaned away. “All men lie, Grace, to obtain what they want.”

  Lovingdon’s sweet words had meant nothing. What a fool she was to have been lured—

  She lashed out and punched his shoulder with all the strength she could muster. “You blackguard!”

  His laughter was dark, rough, as he moved back to his seat across from her. “You deserved it. In the space of a sennight you’ve ruined two of my evenings.”

  “Why? Because I gave you a challenge tonight? No one plays cards as well as I do.”

  “No one cheats as well as you do.”

  “Except you.” And that knowledge irritated her because like Drake he’d always let her win, but in her case she thought she’d bested him. The blighter. “So tell me
, regarding Bentley, how can I determine truth from lie?”

  “If the words are too sweet they are insincere.”

  “Always?”

  “Always.”

  “So if a man tells me I am beautiful, I am to discount him as a suitor?”

  “It would probably be wise to do so, although I suppose there are exceptions.”

  “Do you tell women they are beautiful?”

  “All the time.”

  “And you never mean it?”

  His harsh sigh echoed through the confines of the coach. “The words are designed to make a woman feel treasured, to seduce her. To make her believe that she alone holds my interest—and for the moment she does. But she will not hold me for long.”

  “So you’ll break her heart.”

  “I’m honest, Grace. The women in my life have no false expectations.”

  “I think you’re mistaken about Bentley.”

  “Ask around. I’m sure you’ll find he’s used the words on others.”

  “Oh, yes, by all means, allow me to be seen as a fool.” Beneath his jacket, she rubbed her arms. She was suddenly quite chilled again. “What else must I look out for?”

  “False flattery is usually poetic, ridiculous, flowery. At least mine is.”

  “You never flattered Juliette?”

  “We will not speak of my courtship of Juliette. Ever.”

  “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t apologize for it. Just heed my words.”

  “As you wish. Back to the matter at hand, then, the lesson you sought to teach. I feel like such a ninny. Here I am with so many men declaring their affections, yet I am unable to discern their hearts. Even though you instruct me to trust mine.”

  “Bentley is not for you.”

  “As you refuse to assist me, I’m not sure I can value your opinion on the matter.”

  “It’s not opinion. It’s fact.”